May 1, 2018
Oscultation de la colonne vertébrale à protubérance musicale de l‘hypocrisie #absurdité #absudity #maccabre #morbide #vertebral (à COLLÈGE DE VALLEYFIELD)
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Oscultation de la colonne vertébrale à protubérance musicale de l‘hypocrisie #absurdité #absudity #maccabre #morbide #vertebral (à COLLÈGE DE VALLEYFIELD)
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She Is Going to Check
in the Parkway Tavern, Tacoma, i'd been drinking lemonade for a half-hour or so. a different waitress came to the table. i wondered if waitresses and waiters like to be called servers now or not. i kept this question to myself. anyway, she said, "what are you drinking?" i said, "lemonade." she said, "we don't have lemonade." i said, "i have been drinking lemonade that you
have.” perturbed,
she said, "well, i'll check."
hans ostrom
BITTERSWEET
by Kenneth Harper Finton
Maybe I am jaded now
or just too old to cry.
All the tears I’ve shed before
Have left my eyes quite dry.
Friends have come and friends have gone,
how bittersweet is nature.
Work is really never done,
wars are really never won,
lives are always left undone,
success is never measured.
Blisters used to pain my hands
’til calloused replaced them.
Caring always…
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page from my mindmap
at last some voice had found me [and i wasn't even looking for it] here is what it said to me as i went out walking today:
it is a proven fact that poetry walks free on the streets of cracow. the nerve and the verve of it! its sonnet-like sigh as it loiters on corners, and its sharp volta as somebody gives out a laugh. again and again i go out to meet it and to trace its sly steps. a rare feeling of delicious detachment led me along the narrow avenues toward the center of the square. and i thought that i could stand anywhere - my freedom was so complete. so i became the epicenter, the very eye of the compass from which the circumference of the city shone out. all around, the people moved along their rigid routes. rigid too, seemed their understanding, for they knew who they were and where they were going. but to me they looked like pieces on a giant chessboard - blind and sure of their roles and their limited moves. their names were stuck to them; their features were glued to their faces. how could i persuade them to untangle their voices, all those who sat stuck in the sing-song of their private conversations? my eyes roamed for a familiar stranger, but they could not catch, as if the hooks of my sight were blunt. and so i walked forward, scanning only the loneliest, the most wayward faces which belonged to a small number of middle - aged men. i longed to mirror my own face in their wineglasses, and to occupy the corners of obscure cafes with them. i wanted to be dressed in nothing but their modulated breathing...and yet that would only place me into a pattern. it would make me a part of the set - this unreal, cardboard set in this poor and makeshift theater. i walked back looking at the leaves pasted to oak trees, light nesting in light posts and people trapped in their mansuits. and i knew that this scene will collapse, that it must collapse [provided it was there at all]
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"I suppose if we couldn't laugh at things that don't make sense, we couldn't react to a lot of life."